“Um, eggs… and fruit.” I can’t say anything else. I can barely keep upright.
“Thank you,” says the director when she sees that I’ve finished. “You may begin eating.”
As people get up to fill their plates, Tiffany says to Minaro, “We need to talk to you.”
“Let’s move to the side,” says the director, and we all follow her to a corner of the room.
“Lorena undermined our project,” Tiffany announces. Zach says nothing, but he watches me warily, like he blames me, too.
“What the hell are you talking about?” asks Salma in my defense.
“I believe that is my question to ask,” says Minaro. “Please explain.”
“She stole our newsletter!” says Tiffany. “We printed out a hundred copies last night and left them in the newsroom, and this morning they’re all gone.”
“Why do you blame Lorena for this?”
“Ask her.”
Now the director looks at me, and so do all my friends. “Lorena, did you do this?”
“No,” I say as firmly as I can.
“Then how did one hundred newsletters vanish overnight?” Tiffany demands of me.
“Can you just reprint them?” asks Minaro.
“The file is gone, too,” says Zach.
“That is strange indeed,” says the director, and I can feel Salma’s gaze burning a hole in the side of my head. “We can look into this later. For now, please proceed with the rest of your plans.”
“But—”
“That is all,” says Minaro, cutting off Tiffany’s protest. “Go sample the food the staff has been hard at work preparing for you.”
The five of us do as she instructs, and as soon as we sit down, Tiffany practically hisses at me. “I can’t fucking believe you.”
I butter my scone even though my stomach is already full from feasting on my emotions. Guilt, fear, regret, dread, shame—they’re all roiling in my belly, making me sick. Zach sits quiet and still beside her; Trevor hasn’t even looked at his plate, too busy surveying our surroundings; and Salma rests her forehead in her hand while picking at her fruit plate. There aren’t many vegan options for her today.
“You need help,” Tiffany says to me. “You’ve been brainwashed—”
“It was my idea,” Trevor cuts in, and now he is the center of all our attention.
“What?” The look of utter disappointment on Zach’s face must hit Trevor hard because he finally stops looking everywhere else.
“I understand why you wanted to do this,” Trevor tells him, “but that newsletter wasn’t about reporting the truth, it was just retaliation. If you’re serious about getting the real story out, do some digging and tell it the right way.With proof.If you make it easy to dismiss you now, no one’s going to believe us later, when their lives could depend on it. It’s not responsible journalism.”
Everyone just stares back at him in silence, and Trevor turns to me with an expression of surprise that would be comical under other circumstances. “Fuck, I sound like my father.”
From the way Salma keeps stepping on my toe under the table, I know I owe her an explanation as soon as we’re alone. Then the bell rings, and Minaro stands up.
“I now turn things over to your history club.”
She waves us over, and the five of us seem to be moving extra slow as we make our way toward her to address the room.
We face our classmates in an awkward silence, and when it grows noticeably long, I look at Tiffany. We’re all waiting for her to give her presentation about the history of Huntington, building up to the big reveal that the reason the theme of the day is the mid-1700s is there’s evidence the manor dates back to that time. But she keeps her mouth sealed.
“Okay,” Trevor swoops in, “up next, we’re going outside for some games. So, head to the locker rooms, doesn’t matter which one, and pick up a cloak.”
